


quiet place

by ikmkr



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, Super Dangan Ronpa 2
Genre: Comfort, Emotional Comfort, First Time, I don’t know what to tell you, M/M, POV Second Person, Post-Despair (Dangan Ronpa), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, it’s just 2k words of soft kissy missionary sex, soft kissy missionary sex, that’s it. that is the entire fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-30
Updated: 2019-12-30
Packaged: 2021-02-25 02:53:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22028767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ikmkr/pseuds/ikmkr
Summary: his hands are soft on your cheek.you wondered where this was all your life.
Relationships: Kamukura Izuru/Komaeda Nagito
Comments: 8
Kudos: 91





	quiet place

**Author's Note:**

> i’m a homosexual.

you feel unusually fragile here.

you wonder how this started. you wonder where this all started. sitting on the edge of this mattress, you clench your fists by your sides. you worry your teeth against each other and grimace at the idea of damaging them. you mentally smack yourself. you asked for this. you want this.

there is a weight on your shoulder. it is his hand. you find it to be one of the few things that tethers you to earth. anybody else would have to force their hand onto you. you invite his, an unspoken trust assigned to him with every contact his flesh makes to your flesh, a sealing, lasting bond. he is yours.

you wonder if this is what it means to be his.

you find that you do not mind the idea.

his hand is still heavy on you. you clasp it in your own and meet him in a kiss. he exhales into it. his breath is minty. you suppose he has just brushed his teeth, then. you are amused at the little gesture. his other hand supports your back, and he scoops you up, and lays you gentle on the mattress. your hair makes its claim on the mattress, spider’s webs and vines making cross-stitch intricacies on the vermillion of the comforter, the dark fabric making your pale, thin body look even smaller. he treats you in a way that betrays his apprehension. you are also afraid. you are also excited. you are warm.

he appreciates your fragility. he goes slowly. for this moment it is soft kisses on your lips, holding you close, sheltering you into him, spider-silk hair dusting your cheek. you hold him in the way you hold an anchor, a tether. he ties you to reality, to this moment. you cannot bear to let go. you do not want to go backwards or forwards yet. you want this; this caramel shell of intimacy, sweet and sacchariferous and broken by just a nudge, the base itself breaking and collapsing into itself. he knows your limits. he is aware of what you have been through. he goes slowly.

he treats you carefully, and you grow more comfortable within him, within the safe world he has created for you two, and you make a noise, soft, throaty, pressing for more. he presses his kisses onwards then as a response, lips finding their place just above your shirt collar, and you lean into it, your breaths gasps of steam into the magenta. he squeezes your hand in his own as he truly sets you down, his other hand now at your hip, tracing it.

his eyes meet your own. he is very serious about this whole _respecting Izuru’s boundaries_ thing. you, of course, long have believed you do not deserve your boundaries to be respected, as they never were.

they never were. you flinch. he stops for a minute. you hold your arms out for him and he pulls you up into his lap and holds you still for a minute. you catch your breath as you shudder quietly. thoughts are bumblebees and his kisses are butterflies and eventually your mental landscape is back to being a meadow. you nod into his shoulder and he lays you back down.

do you want to keep going, he asks, or should we call it a night

i want this, you stress, voice just barely above a whisper. i trust you

please let me know if this is too much, he reminds you, gently.

i know, i will

can i undress you? he asks, because that is the courtesy he believes you deserve. you are touched. you nod. 

gentle fingers find themselves at your collar-line. he unwraps you with careful touches, treating you like the gift you are. you are patient. you focus on the planes and lines of his face, the ghostly ethereal wisps of white and auburn, the intensity of his gaze. more importantly, you want this. you desperately do. you would like to give yourself up to him. you would like him to take care of you.

eventually you are bare to him. he bares himself to you in return. he does not wear button-ups. it is a quicker process, because he has worshipped you and he feels no need to do so for himself. his worship tonight is gentle, so you do not repulse it. his sweater and your button-up introduce themselves to one another on the ground adjacent to the bed. you carefully undo your own belt as well and slide it off the mattress likewise. it clinks merrily as it is liberated. you feel like your burdens have been cast aside, so you beckon him, and he climbs on top of you, joining you.

he is freed now. his kisses are deeper now, and you welcome it, knowing that you do not want to turn back. he feels you with his hands as he kisses; you loop your arms around him and pull him to you. you want contact. he obliges, and allows you to hold him. you shudder as his fingers play symphonies on the ghosts of your ribs and the bows of your curves. he is feathers to you.

his kisses move lower. you croon and cling, lest if you relinquish him he will drift away. his hands tease at your zipper, and you can feel his warmth particularly there, his proximity evident in the way your body senses him. he exhales warm and you gasp something quietly. he leans up to give you a reassuring kiss.

he falters. his eyes meet yours. he wants permission to go onwards with this, knowing you need to give it. you are unsure of your ability to speak spoken word, what with your nose dusted pink and loose hand covering your mouth, hiding your loss of composure. you nod anyways, vigorously, almost comical in your insistence. he smiles at this; you have done well. he moves your hand away from your mouth to give you another chaste kiss.

he undresses your lower half just as gently as your upper. he kisses your hand when he is done; then he does the same to himself, just as quickly as before. you realize he does not want to make you feel alone, vulnerable or in a spotlight. he does the same shames unto himself as you allow him to perform to you. he does not have to remove the articles of clothing that he does remove from himself. he does anyways. you are together in this act. he will not clean up and leave. he has committed to you. he is truly yours. you sigh in content. he has trusted you in return.

holding him without fabric in the way is a new sensation that you discover quickly that you very much enjoy. you can feel the heat radiating off his skin intensely. it is magnetic. he is slender and wiry and a bit stronger than you expected and you are caught up in the web of it, the sensation of being held, caught, treasured; it is surprisingly comforting. you are shocked; intercourse was not supposed to be _comforting._ it was supposed to fulfill necessity and—

his hands are soft on your cheek. his gaze is concerned. you still with me? he whispers, voice oh-so-tender, so breathless, so loving.

you wonder where this was all your life. you nod, burying your face in his shoulder, a quiet plea tumbling out of your trembling lips, and he pauses, and fulfills you.

he prepares you just as gently as ever, too; it is not a foreign feeling but it feels new in the way that all of this has been new. it is not sloppy, it is not quick, it is not disregarded; it is done for you and for you only, and he listens to your noises and feedback and advice. it is methodical and you can feel the dedication he is bringing into this. it is an intrusion but a welcome one. you feel good.

you whisper this into the shell of his ear on a whim. a hazy chuckle floods out of him.

is that so, he remarks.

it is, you reply, your voice strained. please, more, i love you—

he cuts you off with his lips. he is passionate. the pressure of his digits disappear and you barely notice it. his hands capture your own, and they are pinned to the mattress; you know he is going to take you soon, and you squeeze his hands in reassurance, and he squeezes them in return. he is right there. he has always been, in his own way. you are more thankful for him than he will ever know.

he’s agonizingly careful with every inch. your nails rake at his back and you trace and get familiar with every little vertebrae that you can feel as he slowly eases into you and you lock your ankles behind him. you can feel his pulse inside you, and you note with a small twist of your lips that your heart rates have synced up. you have become one with him. he brushes your dark hair away from your face, and wipes the sweat off of your forehead with a gentle thumb.

how are you holding up? he asks, voice filled with nothing but love.

i have never been better, you gasp out to him in return. he kisses you again. you will never tire of his kisses.

he rocks back into you. you are euphoric. you feel safe. this feels safe. you feel like you are supposed to feel, doing such a carnal thing. this is an act of love, not lust. you come to an epiphany, in his arms, about the freedom you have now; you are finally free to do _this,_ an act of love and trust and no longer an act of need, control and necessity. when you cry out, you smile. this is joy. you are alive.

the exhilaration you are feeling is not of fear this time. you cannot describe this feeling in words. you do not need to; your body is telling the story with your quiet sounds and the way you cling to him. you kiss him; he whispers a choked, i love you in your ear when you break free. he is becoming more frantic, yet he still fights himself to stay gentle with you. you fall in love with him more for it, a gentle fall that cushions you on the way down. 

he rocks into you one last time. you sob with your release, stars falling behind your eyelids.

he is spent. you have never thought he looked more beautiful. in the way he brushes your messed-up hair from your face tenderly, he seems to think the same. you want him to hold you close. you do not want him to go. he knows both of your desires by heart and makes sure both are fulfilled. when you feel him cuddle up to your side, a small smile finds itself onto your lips.

thank you, you whisper to him.

he knows why. he does not ask why. instead, he nods, and presses another soft kiss to your lips, because that is all that is needed now.


End file.
